


(Don't) Fight Your Reflex

by MercurialTenacity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asexual!Newt Scamander, Begging, Crying, Dark!Graves, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Drugged Sex, Face Slapping, Forced Arousal, Forced Eye Contact, Gags, Grindelwald Follower!Graves, Light Bondage, M/M, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Language, Praise Kink, Rape, Torture (briefly), Verbal Humiliation, absolutely nothing is consensual, seriously only porn happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 13:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10191458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: Percival Graves is being held by MACUSA under top security.  Until he’s not, and comes looking for Newt Scamander with some very specific ideas about how to pay him back for ruining his plans in New York.  And Newt… well, there isn’t terribly much Newt can do about it.Please read the tags.  The tags are important.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely filth. There is nothing redeeming about it. If that’s what you’re looking for, great! If not, you have taken a serious wrong turn.

The pain hits Newt the moment he steps through his front door.  When it lets up he’s on the floor, and he grasps desperately for his wand.  His fingers just manage to brush the handle before it hits again.  He can’t think through the white hot fire coursing through him, can’t keep track of how long it lasts or what’s around him or whether or not he’s screaming.  When it finally stops all he can do is lie on the ground convulsing, hand bumping uselessly against the wand tucked into his waistcoat and unable to find a grip.

The boot that digs into his shoulder, rolling him onto his back, sends echoes of pain running through him.  His whole body aches, and it hurts to breathe.

Percival Graves leans over him to relieve him of his wand, making a mockery of Newt’s futile grasping.  Graves pats his cheek in a way that makes Newt’s stomach turn in a manner entirely unrelated to the pain, and his last thought before losing consciousness is that MACUSA custody really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

When Newt comes to he’s lying on his back.  There’s still an ache deep in his muscles but it’s dulled, nothing like the agony twisting into him before.  He doesn’t even try to open his eyes yet, letting himself just be still as he comes back to himself.  Of the dozens of spells Graves could have used to render him unconscious, he had to choose pain.

He tries to take stock of his situation.  He has no idea how long he’s been out or where Graves would have taken him.  The surface underneath him is soft, so evidently he’s no longer on the floor.  He tries to move and finds his hands are tied together above his head, affixed in place.  The rest of his body seems unbound, but sluggish in a way that is rather concerning, all things considered.  He groans with the effort of prying his eyes open, and that’s as far as he gets before he hears Graves’ voice.

“Ah, Mr Scamander.”

“Graves,” Newt croaks, “Graves, you bloody bastard.”

“Your beasts did a beautiful job of ravaging New York City, Mr Scamander.”  The surface that Newt is laying on – he can see now that it’s a bed – depresses as Graves sits down beside him.  Two months in MACUSA custody doesn’t seem to have had much effect on him – he’s as immaculately groomed as ever.  “Shall we see what they make of London?  Paris, maybe?  What would you prefer?”

Was it too much to hope that Graves just wanted revenge, and that he’d leave the creatures out of it?  “You can’t have my creatures.  They’re not dangerous, I told you they’re not dangerous.  You can’t use them for that, they’re _living beings_ –”

Graves places a finger over Newt’s lips, stopping his speech.  “Shh.  I already have them.”  Newt looks past Graves, and there indeed is his case, sitting on the other side of the sparsely furnished room.  If he could just get to it…  “You’re going to tell me how to use them.  Or shall I just read your book…?  Hm.  You made it laughably easy, Mr Scamander.  I expected better.  What do they teach you at that English school?  But that’s right, you never did graduate.  Is that why you prefer to spend your time with animals?”  Graves looks down at Newt, leaning over him, and Newt has been subject to enough mockery in his life that he doesn’t rise to the bait.  But when Graves traces his finger across Newt's lips, brushes his cheek, his eyes widen.  “You will answer my questions.  But not yet.”  And his other hand tugs at Newt’s bowtie, loosening it.

Is Graves implying what Newt thinks he is?  He can’t be, why – why would he?  And Newt’s never – well, he’s never.  He’s never wanted to, he certainly doesn’t want to now.  But Graves undoes the button at his collar, runs a flat hand down his chest to the buttons of his waistcoat and starts on them one by one.

Newt squirms and kicks out weakly, the heaviness in his limbs making his movements slow and clumsy.  “What have you – why –?”

“I wanted you relaxed,” Graves says offhandedly.  “I can see you’ll need some help with that.”  Graves shifts to climb fully onto the bed.  He swings a leg over Newt to straddle his hips, pinning him firmly in place and Newt gasps, feeling trapped and helpless with Graves’ weight on him.

Graves has his waistcoat completely open by now, buttons undone and pushed off to the side.  Graves settles his hands around Newt’s waist, just above his hips, and he runs them slowly upwards, over his ribs and up his torso until his palms are cupping Newt’s chest.  His thumbs find his nipples through his shirt and rub deep, slow circles while Newt’s breathing comes short and heavy.

This can’t be happening.  It can’t – why would it be happening?  There are other ways to get information, why isn’t he using Veritaserum, or Legilimency, or – _why –_

“Please, no.  It won’t help, I won’t tell you – I won’t tell you about my creatures, don’t – no –”  Newt is horrified by how quickly he’s been reduced to begging Graves to stop, just wants Graves to stop touching him, wants this to not be happening.  The worst part is that as Graves keeps massaging his nipples, rubbing deep into the muscle of his chest, there’s a warmth spreading out from Graves’ fingertips.  He shuts his eyes tight, trying futilely to squirm out of Graves’ grip.  “Stop, stop, please…”

“You will tell me, you will answer whatever questions I ask.  But don’t worry about that yet.  It’s going to feel good.”

“Don’t touch me,” Newt snarls, fighting as much as he can with his arms bound, his hips pinned down, and his body heavy.

Graves sighs and reaches up to tug Newt’s loose bowtie from around his neck, hands never quite breaking contact.  He folds the thin strip of fabric neatly and presses it against Newt’s lips.  Newt tries to turn his head but Graves holds his chin, and he tucks the fabric carefully into his mouth.  Newt screws up his face, he wants to spit it out, but he can’t with Graves holding his mouth closed. 

“Ah-ah.”  Graves’ thumb starts to stroke along his cheek, then under his jaw as he pulls his hand back and Newt stays still.  “Good boy.”  Newt burns through with humiliation and when he turns his head to the side Graves lets him, but he doesn’t stop the soft strokes over his jaw and neck.

Graves’ hands are back on his chest, unbuttoning his shirt now, and Newt feels tears forming in his eyes.  The first touch of Graves’ fingers on his bare skin is like a shock, sending jolts through him and leaving a tingling and buzzing in his skin. 

He’s lying there, letting it happen because what else can he possibly do, when Graves leans over him to lick along the underside of his jaw.  Newt shivers at the hot, wet, softness working over the column of his neck, setting his skin on fire, lips and tongue exploring every bump and hollow, working up to his lips – Graves licks over his mouth, tongue dipping inside, and Newt can’t help the way he whines and how his chest arches into Graves’ hands tugging at his nipples.  Graves kisses him deeply, tongue working around the fabric tucked in his mouth, biting and sucking at him until Newt’s lips are red and swollen.  Newt is dizzy.  He wants to throw up.

“There, there, Mr Scamander.  Not so bad, is it?”  Graves is cupping Newt’s cheek with one hand, and he trails the other down Newt’s body to rub soothing little circles into his stomach.  Newt whines again, high and pleading, and Graves places another soft kiss on his lips. 

“Do you want me to give you more?” 

Newt shakes his head desperately and Graves quiets him, stroking his cheek and brushing hair out of his eyes. 

“I know you do.  Your body needs it.”  Newt shakes his head again, but no matter how sick he feels he can’t stop the way his body presses into Graves’ touches.  It’s biology, he’s seen enough creatures mate to know it’s a reflex, but it doesn’t stop the cold shame running through him.  Graves kisses him again, messy and slow, and when he finally pulls back there’s a string of saliva connecting them. 

“You’re mine now.  Just like one of your creatures.”  Graves traces along Newt’s forehead, cards his fingers absent mindedly through his hair.  “And I’m going to take care of you like one.”  He slides his thigh between Newt's legs at the same time he squeezes his nipples, and Newt moans into his mouth.

Graves waits until Newt’s breathing is ragged and his hips are pressing forward uncontrollably before he dispenses with Newt’s pants.  Newt’s crying by then, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes and running into his hair.  The sodden strip of fabric is still in his mouth, soaked through by now, and Newt doesn’t know why he isn’t just spitting it out, except that he’s not.  He can’t swallow properly with it and there’s saliva building up in his mouth, his and Graves’ both mixing together.  He wants it to be over, to be done with, so that he can pay attention to things like saving his creatures and escaping rather than how good his nipples feel when Graves sucks them or the sparks dancing across his skin as Graves slides fingers into his waistband.  He knows what’s coming next, more or less, he knows how mating works.  He closes his eyes as Graves removes the rest of his clothes and he wills his body to be still.

Graves lays a hand flat on his abdomen and Newt feels the warmth of his palm.  He drags his hand lower, fingers tracing lightly, until it comes to rest on Newt’s half hard cock.

“Look at me.”

Newt hates eye contact, it’s deeply uncomfortable and awkward, and at all points in his life he’s found he’s better avoiding it when possible.  It no longer appears to be possible.

“Now.  Look at me.”  Graves’ voice is low and commanding, and Newt wants to look anywhere else.  He stares at the knot of his tie, past his left ear, anywhere really except where Graves wants him too.

It’s a shock when Graves hits him.  It probably shouldn’t be, all things considered, but the sting of his cheek sends him reeling.  He gasps for breath, eyes flitting around frantically before he drags them upwards and forces himself to meet Graves’ gaze.

“There you are.”

Graves slides his hand down to cup Newt’s balls, rolls them in his fingers, and Newt wants to look away, shut his eyes tight and pretend to be anywhere else.  He does for a second, he can’t help it, but the sharp tug on his balls makes his eyes water and his gaze snap back to Graves.

He whimpers as Graves’ fingers feel between his legs, touching around the base of his cock and the insides of his thighs, rubbing behind his balls, teasing touches that bring him fully hard and rocking into Graves’ hand but with only the shadow of full sensation.

It’s worse, so much worse than before, and Newt’s mind rebels at the idea that Graves can make him do this even as his body moves in time with Graves’ touches.

Eventually Graves turns Newt over so that he’s lying on his stomach, tugs his shirt up over his head where his arms are still trapped in the sleeves so that the fabric tangles around his bound hands.  He smooths his hands down Newt’s back in long, slow strokes, traces his fingers over each vertebra in Newt’s spine, feeling out all the ridges and valleys of his shoulder blades, rubs circles into the small of his back.  Newt doesn’t know if he will ever forgive himself for the way his body relaxes.  He wants to be fighting or at the very least protesting, but instead he’s grateful for the opportunity to hide his face in the sheets.

Graves is gentle, tender even, as he strokes over Newt’s hips, the curve of his ass, and nudges Newt’s legs apart.  Newt is exposed, helpless, all of him on display as Graves manipulates his body as he sees fit.  Graves is massaging the backs of his thighs with deep touches, working up to the underside of his ass, fingers pressing in firm and strong and _good_ and Newt feels his body going loose and pliant.  Graves works inward slowly until his fingers are pressing against Newt’s hole, rubbing around the outside of it and Newt is trembling, clenching his ass and trying to squirm away with the few centimeters of movement he can muster.  He doesn’t want to be touched there, doesn’t want to be touched _anywhere_ but certainly not there, the pressure of it is peculiar and uncomfortable, and the shame of it burns like bile in the pit of his stomach.

“Shh, shh, you’re all right.”  Graves lays a palm on Newt’s ass, talks to him as though trying to gentle an animal.  Newt hears the rustling of fabric as Graves’ hands leave him, the uncapping of a bottle and then, a moment later, feels Graves’ fingers return to his hole.  They’re coated in something thickly slick, and it’s cold at first but starts to grow warm when it touches him, heating up enough that the warmth and the wet glide of Graves’ fingers makes him moan.

“Good, that’s it.”

Graves is rubbing the slickness all around his hole, massaging it into the ring of muscle – and then not around anymore but pressing against his entrance with one finger, a slow unyielding pressure trying to open him up, and Newt finds to his horror that he can’t tighten his ass against it.  He’s gone loose and open, unable to even resist the intrusion.  It’s the slickness that Graves is working into him maybe, rendering him relaxed and unresisting to Graves’ touches.  He sobs as he feels Graves’ finger slide inside him, just past the outer ring of muscle but feeling so big holding him open, an uncomfortable pressure and Newt feels nauseous.  The finger slides out, gathers up more of whatever wet slippery substance is making Newt so vulnerable and pressing back in, warming his ass from the inside and working in and out, getting deeper and deeper each time, until it doesn’t feel like a stretch anymore.

Just as Newt’s body is getting used to it Graves adds another finger.  It brings back the uncomfortable, stretched out full feeling, but Newt is too loose for it to hurt.  He works Newt steadily, fingers caressing his insides, thumb rubbing just behind his balls until Newt is moaning openly, mind hazy, his hips pressing back into Graves’ strokes without restraint.

Graves curls his fingers, presses down, and Newt yelps.  There are stars sparking behind his eyelids and he’s left completely breathless at the intensity of the pleasure that surged through him.  Graves draws back and then presses in again, and it’s _too much_ , there’s no possible way he can stand more of this.

A third finger slides into him and Graves alternates between stroking that spot inside him, loosening him up, and finger fucking him in a deliberate, steady rhythm.

Eventually he puts his lips to Newt’s ear, starts whispering things Newt doesn’t want to hear rough and low, making him squirm and shake under the combined pressure of his touches and his words.  “So pretty like this Scamander, my hand inside you, you’re taking it so well.  Such a good boy for me.  I told you it would feel good, you love it.  You’re made for this, being fucked open.”

Newt loses track of time.  All he knows is that he’s open and wanting and seems to have lost all control over his body, helpless to whatever Graves wants to do to him.

He gasps when Graves’ fingers pull out of him, pushing backwards to chase the feeling before he can stop himself.  All he knows is that his hole feels strange without being full, and he misses the rhythmic stroking.

It’s only a moment before the sensation is replaced.  He can feel Graves shifting on the bed behind him and then something else is rubbing against his ass, thick and blunt.  Graves rubs his cock up and down over Newt’s hole, teasing but never quite pushing in, and there’s still some part of Newt that’s repulsed by the idea of it being inside him, that wants to crawl away or kick or scream or do anything to stop what’s about to happen.  But that part of him doesn’t seem to be in control anymore.  His body is responding and he can’t stop it, no matter how much he hates himself for it.

He’s so lost that he almost misses Graves’ next words.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Newt is nodding before he can stop himself, whining through the fabric in his mouth as he starts to cry again.

“Tell me.”  Graves tugs the ruined, spit soaked strip of fabric out of his mouth.  Newt’s voice is high and breathy, choked with sobs.

“Yes, please fu… fuck me, please I w – I want, oh god, _please…_ ”

“That’s it, you English slut.” 

Newt whimpers, a mess of sensation and shame and need.  He doesn’t know how he can feel this good and this violated, doesn’t know why he should feel a spike of humiliation at Graves’ words, and when the head of Graves’ cock pushes into him oh god, he’s going to lose his mind.  The blunt tip presses up against his hole and Graves moves so slowly Newt feels every millimeter of it enter him, the first stretch as his hole opens up around Graves, the moment when his cock head slips inside, and the unrelenting unbearable glide as he slides the rest of the way in, pressing so deep that Newt feels it in every part of his body.

Graves is still at first, forcing Newt to wait stretched open on his cock as Graves kisses wet and hot at the base of his neck, wraps a hand into his hair, lets his weight settle over Newt.  Newt can feel the scratch of fabric against his back, buttons catching on his skin, Graves’ fully clothed body contrasting against his naked one.

And then Graves starts to move.  He rolls his hips and Newt can feel his cock moving inside him, sliding smoothly and it’s a strange feeling but it sends waves of pleasure through him, making him moan and sending his head spinning.

Graves sets a steady pace, torturously slow, sinking into him again and again as Newt rocks back onto his cock, their bodies pressed together.  Newt gets lost in the rhythm of it, lets his mind go hazy and dark because if he were to think about what was happening, to really think about it, he doesn’t know if he would stay sane.

Instead he concentrates on the feelings in his body, lets his mind fill with the pleasant warm tingling in his ass, the easy movement of Graves’ cock in him and the white hot sparks that shoot through him each time it rubs over that spot inside him, Graves’ hands firm on him and keeping him settled.  He has a flash of gratitude that Graves is helping him like this, being so gentle and helping him through it.  He feels distantly like he’s going to regret that thought later, but it’s too late and it doesn’t matter anyway.  He didn’t want to get fucked but if he has to, then if he asks for it and it feels good, that’s better… right?  And he is grateful, he realizes, he doesn’t know what for but he is.

“Tha… thank you, _uh_ , thank you – oh – oh, tha… thank…”

“You like that?  You like getting dicked with my cock in your ass?”

“Yes… ye – oh – I like your co… _oh…_ in my, in my ass.”  Half his words are lost to breath, but it doesn’t matter.  Graves knows what he’s saying.

“That’s right, little cockslut, this is what you’re for.  Didn’t know how much you needed it, did you?  You just lie still and tell me how much, how much you need it.”

“So much… so… need it so much.”

Graves’ thrusts deepen and quicken and Newt is a mess, noises falling from his mouth uncontrollably, gasps and moans mixed in with desperate pleading until he’s fallen apart completely.

Graves’ breathing is growing rougher.  He’s panting, composure starting to fray around the edges in a mockery of Newt’s complete disarray.

“Tell me what you want.  Say it.”

“Oh… oh… your cock, your cock feels… feels so good.”

“In your ass?”

“Yeah… feels so good in my ass.”

Graves tightens a hand around Newt’s neck, growling low into his ear. “Do you want my come in your ass?”

“Yes – oh god, please –”

“Beg me for it.”

“Please, _please,_ I want your come… in my ass, I – I need it, I need it in my ass, please come in me, please…”

Newt cries out with the force of Graves’ thrusts, no longer gentle, and his breath hitches as the rhythm falters and Graves’ cock pulses deep inside him.  He can feel Graves coming, shooting into his ass just like he’d begged for, filling him up and giving him exactly what he wanted.

Graves stills above him, breath hot in his ear and weight settling.  Newt can feel Graves’ cock going soft inside him and he’s still squirming, sobbing and needing Graves in him, needing any kind of stimulation for his own cock trapped underneath him.  But Graves pulls out with a wet, slick sound and Newt feels a horrible emptiness.  Graves’ come is trickling out his hole as he rises from the bed.

He’s still begging softly, shaking and trembling all over.  “Please, please fuck me.  I need something in me, please fuck my ass…”

Newt shudders in the absence of Graves’ touch, his hole uncomfortably loose and empty.  He quiets as the moments tick by he starts to come back to himself.  The hot flush is fading from his body, and he starts to feel cold.  There aren’t any sensations to distract him now, nothing to focus his mind away from the fact that he just begged to be fucked by the man who tried to start a war in New York.  There’s come dripping out of his ass, his face is a mess of spit and tears, and he’s sticky all over with sweat and a stomach slick with pre-come.  He’s dirty, used, disgust sinking in.  He curls in on himself as best he can, pulls his knees up and tucks his head, trying to ignore his still hard cock.

Graves pats his ass and leans over him one last time to whisper in his ear.

“Good boy.”

Newt hears his footsteps on the floor, hears the door open and close again as Graves leaves.  Leaves him to cry and shiver and try to rewrite events in his mind into something he can live with.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr, if you like :)


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